


The strength of your convictions

by Be3



Series: Sherlock Holmes and the Improbable [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sleeping Beauty (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be3/pseuds/Be3
Summary: The Evil Fairy made a mistake, and the kingdom wakes up somewhat later than expected. This time, Sherlock Holmes gets the girl. He must.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Sleeping Beauty
Series: Sherlock Holmes and the Improbable [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966420
Kudos: 2





	1. The telephone

**Author's Note:**

> Her country was more than a century behind the curve. No princes were interested.

The Palace was still and dark once again. Only the snores could be heard, and a distant shuffling when the guards made their rounds.

In her room, candles burnt. The clock chimed one o'clock.

The Princess was having her nightly romantic meeting with her groom and his friend, in her bedroom. Were anybody to comment on the arrangement she would just have to order the offender to be hanged for high treason.

Not that she was a cruel girl. There weren't many efficient alternatives... there was no time; her groom brought her important things. They made romantic meetings beyond secret.

 _This_ thing was very odd. It gleamed in candlelight. The Princess touched it again.

She could liken the material, the outer shell that hid its workings from the eye, to wood, because it was smooth and hard but not cold like metal. There was no unevenness in its colour, either in the thickness of the coating or in its hue: the blackness had not been _painted on_ , it had come from _within_.

And the Princess almost succeeded in fooling herself that this was, in fact, wood. But she already knew it was something else. 

Something... man-made. 

_It should not exist_ , she thought, dazed. Not because it could not. She knew better than to argue with progress (aloud). Because her nation had been cheated out of having thought of it, of helping it come together.

It kept existing. 

It could not have been conjured up by any means she could imagine. Not that she knew much of _that_. And they called it 'plastic'. No wizard would have picked such an ugly name. 

Still, it existed.

The shape of the thing, too, was... unladylike. Chunky, and it had a tail. It was not quite insulting so much as too agreeable, as if the master who made it was laughing at the intended user's... expectations. Too slick. Obscene, that was the word. 

'The telephone', she repeated.

Mr. Holmes nodded. She got it right.

'It can be connected with other such devices, Your Highness,' he said carefully, gauging her reaction. 'I will explain to you how, since this has important implications to the organization of your land's infrastructure in its entirety. Including defence.'

'But not right now,' the Doctor said immediately. He was a kind man. She felt like she was going to throw up or explode, it had to be possible if magic was real. This was hopeless, and the worst thing about it was that her parents weren't even trying to engage with the sheer complexity of _today_ and _rule the d---d country as they were born to -_

'Water,' she managed. The Doctor was kind. He understood.

He poured some water and offered her the goblet with a funny little gesture that had to imply respect. A week ago she'd have had a man whipped for being so familiar (not that anybody would dare to). But the Doctor was sincere.

On the other hand, a week ago Mr. Holmes kissed her on the mouth. And he quite obviously had been sincere, otherwise the charms would not have released her. She just wasn't certain what he'd been sincere about.

If he'd been kind, if kindness was all it took, the Princess would flail him alive, herself. But he didn't kiss her again, even when he placed the telephone on her nightstand, so it probably was something else.

'Is it connected?' asked the Princess, choosing rather to point at the telephone. 'I fail to see any... connections.'

'This one isn't,' Mr. Holmes smiled approvingly. 'I could rig up a demonstration, if you desire.'

'I do not,' she managed. 'Rig it up tomorrow, impress the crowds. It needs to be astonishing to help us win them over.'

 _Them_ , was it now.

She looked at the maps - the _new_ maps with the world so much bigger than it used to be - but she made herself look.

'Your Highness,' the Doctor said with a quiet emotion which merited either knighthood or capital punishment. Maybe both. 'It is better if you rest before you have to appear in public.'

She closed her eyes. She was eighteen.

And a hundred. And then some.

'I shall stay here on the floor, between your bed and the window,' said Mr. Holmes matter-of-factly. 'And Watson will stay by the door. Nobody will come in.'

'I could, I could read reports,' she whispered. 'The spies' reports... I t-took them from father's t-table...'

She had never met the spies in person (that she knew of), but she felt like she owed it to them. To their memory. The reports were so outdated they didn't even count as classified intelligence (she hoped).

The English government was compiling _a summary_ of the world's most pressing matters for her use. Well, for her father's use. Who could trust the English government?

Dr. Watson lighted two more candles and took one with him to the door.

So. A knighthood.

'Here, Your Highness,' Mr. Holmes put a wet cloth into her hands and she mechanically wiped her face. 'Chin up. I shall wake you at sunrise, if you have no objections.'

'I don't,' said the Princess hoarsely. 'We have not reviewed this state-o'-scoop thing as planned. Now please turn around as I disrobe. But you _will_ wake me?'

'Indeed,' said Mr. Holmes, somewhat ruefully, and turned around as he was told. 'I can already tell it will be a beautiful morning.'


	2. Lunch

'It's the French again,' her father said abruptly.

They were having lunch out in the garden. Almost a family affair. The only guests were her suitor and his friend the Doctor. Her mother the Queen was taking it in stride, pouring tea and offering sweetmeats, her posture every bit as regal as if this was a yearly function with peculiar traditions.

The Princess couldn't do it. Not the tea, she wasn't bad at tea, even if it tasted like nothing from her former days. The pretending.

Only one valet could be spared to attend to them, and the Princess tried not to go red with humiliation when somebody had to wait to be served; she wondered how poor this made them in Mr. Holmes's estimation. 

The word 'squalor' came to mind.

'Sir?' Mr. Holmes said inquiringly.

'Their new system,' said the King, throwing the napkin aside. If there was one advantage to having this particular Englishman at the table, it was his unheard-of directness of manner which was not, as they learned after almost starting a war on that first day, calculated to offend. She hoped Mr. Holmes appreciated how difficult it was to maintain even this semblance of normalcy. 'We cannot understand it. How are we to accept their _new_ Ambassador if the one we currently have is as good as a criminal in their eyes?'

The French sent a polite diplomat with polite letters. That day, another war was barely avoided. The diplomat was shown in and - politely sent away as the castle was being swept for the first time in centuries. Every spare hand was scrubbing, washing and repairing, and holes were dug out to bury cartloads of dust and sand. The man was very supportive and rather too enthusiastic when he saw his predecessor wielding a broom in the royal library. This, the Princess supposed, was good.

They were living on credit, the Princess knew, and they were running out of it.

'Ah, Your Majesty,' Mr. Holmes said pensively. 'A criminal is too strong a word. Hardly anyone there would know what to call him, as he had not personally participated in any - '

Dr. Watson looked at him over his cup.

'... recent events,' Mr. Holmes amended.

'Perhaps,' said the King. 'We shall offer him citizenship.'

He stood up and waved at them to remain seated. A council was held in the library, one he could no longer be absent from. The English had arrived, the Italians were expected in the evening and the Germans the day after.

The Princess let her shoulders slump, and it showed how tired they were that she was not reprimanded. Nobody spoke at all. Only the mindless birds kept singing.

'Doctor,' the Queen said with a sigh. 'I am infinitely sorry to require your assistance so soon...'

'Of course!' the Doctor sprang up and swept his ridiculous little bow. 'It is an honour, Ma'am.'

Her Mother the Queen led the way to the wing of the castle where they had their infirmary and where now, the few sick being temporarily moved to the strange tents Mr. Holmes had provided, the whole kingdom was being taken stock of. Mr. Holmes would have joined them, but the Princess caught his sleeve and he stayed.

The valet blushed and went over to the rose bushes.

 _Honestly_ , thought the Princess, _they've gone mad about this whole true love thing_.

'Your Highness?' asked Mr. Holmes warily.

'I need you to invent a way to make a lot of money very quickly,' said the Princess and didn't die. 'Can you turn lead into gold?'

'No!' he exclaimed. His face showed an enlightened man's indignation, then comprehension.

'Even were that possible,' he said gently, 'it would not help, but harm you. With the state of your army, you would be overrun in hours.'

Her shoulders dropped even lower. 

'We are living on credit,' she explained dully. 'I overheard Lord Karst yesterday. We owe more than we can ever pay, even under 'unreasonably good progress'.'

Mr. Holmes steepled his fingers and leaned his head to the side.

'Our agriculture costs too much,' she went on. Lord Karst only used agriculture to illustrate a point. Everything else cost too much as well. 'I don't understand why... we grow vegetables and fruits, and the grains are mostly plentiful.'

'It has to do with how much effort and money goes into producing things versus how much you can sell them for,' said Mr. Holmes quietly.

She started to speak, felt her composure break, closed her mouth.

Mr. Holmes's elder brother who'd come with the delegation told her (in a way that made _her_ almost start a war) that it might be more prudent, on the whole, to put her land back to sleep. Until a less tumultous age. An age of plenty and charity and wisdom. Not this one.

She translated it to mean 'My empire is not interested in bailing out your unwashed bankrupt state'.

But the summer was passing. There'd have to be a wedding, the Princess knew. She'd been already produced, it was a shame to let it all go to waste.

She smiled and offered him a dish of roasted nuts in honey.

He took the dish, met her eye and kissed her hand. Then he left.


	3. At the gate

  
The day was stifling, very hot and dry. The weak breeze stank of treachery.

It brought the smoke of the big fires in the west.

They should not have set the brambles alight to clear the ground. The dead branches were too thickly piled, they had snaked around the place over the long years, iron-hard, and maybe this was a reason why the country had not been taken either by an enterprizing neighbour or by relentless Nature... yet now the wreath was burning, and in the immense heat, all life was withered. And maybe there was magic involved, but the people were not eager to suggest it in her presence. _Yet._

The Princess was meeting the refugees at the gate. 

There were so many of them. Carts and wagons bursting with people and their things. She had only ever seen so many people at the big fair, except that now the carts came in singed, not prettied up, and the wagons were in tatters, not ribbons. She directed them to the side, to clear the way for the occasional rider. Behind her, near the wall, she could hear the nurses and the priest apprising the worst of it, but she didn't have the leisure to turn around.

She wished they would do something about the sounds the patients made... the sounds took some getting used to.

'This way,' the Princess cried. 'This way. Is anybody hurt?'  
'No, ma'am,' said the driver and she waved him on, past the healers. Behind him came in a horseman in the King's livery. He looked like he was bringing more bad news. 

The Princess started as a nurse offered her a cup of tea, curtsying perfunctorily. She accepted it with a murmur. She tried not to show that the women made her uneasy. They were nuns, and right at the moment her father was at odds with the Church (or was it Churches), because of the putative witches his kingdom. The witches were thankfully lying low - hard for them as a rule, but the Queen was doing a little diplomacy of her own.

Only the Princess was so unfit for most tasks they put her to man the gates.

'Doctor!' said a nurse sharply. The Princess looked up. Doctor Watson had left early, 'to bring reinforcements'. It seemed he couldn't find many; beside him was a lady, and of the other two men in the 'trap' (they really called it that), only one resembled a healer. The other she pegged as some kind of merchant. The Princess smiled in welcome. Merchants, they needed. It was only her sheltered upbringing that made her regret he wasn't a surgeon.

Doctor Watson bowed (one day she was going to teach him how to do it right) and handed down the lady, who turned out to be his wife. This was the first time the Princess saw the current fashions and had to bite her tongue not to ask all the obvious questions, but Mrs. Watson went to the kitchens almost before the introductions were over. She was bringing something bulky, hopefully spices.

The merchant was a Mr. Hugh Boon, and he was actually a clerk and a friend of Mr. Holmes's. The other gentleman was called Anstruther, and here the Princess employed some of her charms: poor Dr. Anstruther had been recruited with some haste, and he kept talking about loose ends to be tied up. He was shy, too. The Princess thought she might like such men. They went straight to work. This one did.

Oh, but was it hot outside.

'Your Highness.'

Now Mr. Holmes was not shy at all.

'Sir,' she said, sparing him a glance. Two more carts were coming up. 

'Your father desires you to join him in the Green Room,' Mr. Holmes informed her.

'Nurse!' she commanded. 'Take over here. I am going to change.'

Fires or not, one did not go to the Green Room in a dusty dress.

Mr. Holmes offered her an arm, which was odd until she noticed how exhausted she was. She deigned to take it.

'Could nobody else do this?' he asked with some asperity, leading her up to the entrance. 

'Keep your voice down.'

'Where is your entourage, Your Highness?'

'There is nobody,' she gritted out. 'Most people are putting out fires and such. Lord Blake is Master of the Rivers. Lord Karst is reading. And Lady Gleen is out collecting wines.'

'Wines.'

'For the auction,' she explained. 'We have some genuinely exquisite vintages.'

'Ha!' Her groom was not easily surprized, but when he was, she counted it a victory. 'Not a bad idea.'

' _My_ idea.'

'Still not a bad one.'

'Mr. Holmes,' she said through her teeth. 'Have you seen Mr. Boon? He arrived about half an hour ago.'

'Yes, I have. He's going out to supervize the prospecting as we speak,' his expression turned somewhat colder. 'Boon owes me a debt... and quite fortuitously for us, he has just the mind for this enterprize, and a well-developed... web of contacts.'

'What is prospecting?'

'Surveying the land for its buried riches,' again a shadow passed across his face. 'We must secure them if there are any.'

'Ah.' She nodded. Bargaining chips. Desired by many parties. Good, they needed those.

Mr. Holmes looked at her sideways. They were alone in a hallway - not literally alone, with servants were coming and going, but just-alone-as-proper anyway. 

'Why?' she whispered. 

'Your Highness?'

'Why come here and wake us?' She couldn't understand. Certainly a noble deed was its own reward, it was just that... Mr. Holmes did not strike her as a particularly charitable person. Yet here he was, throwing himself into a losing battle as if he had to. Could it be that their kingdom did contain some unexpected riches? Some kind of fundamental gain? Something tangible or even intangible they could claim as their own?

'It is my belief,' said Mr. Holmes quietly, 'that given how fast weapons are being invented, twenty years later there would be nobody to wake here.'

She stared at him.

He was not lying.

The Princess found herself sitting down.


End file.
